


As The Firelight Dies

by BlackBlood1872



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Alternate Dragonborn I guess, Drabble Collection, Drama, Family, Gen, Half-Daedra Dragonborn, Minor amounts of Angst, POV First Person, Rated to be Safe, Some Humor, because what I am without my soft angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-11
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2018-03-11 21:38:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 30
Words: 11,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3333782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackBlood1872/pseuds/BlackBlood1872
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A short story / drabble series about a character of mine. What if the Dragonborn was half-Daedra? A thing exploring that.<br/>Chapter 6-11: the Night to Remember arc.<br/>Chapter 13-24: the How it Began arc.<b></b><br/>Chapter 26-?: the Professionally Unethical v1 arc.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Mother used to tell me tales of a dark haired prince who took her on adventures. She was a fun woman, telling me stories of her teenage days, of parties and drinks and magic in the air. All with an embarrassed twitter of a laugh, though her eyes shone with a brightness I only see rarely. Those days were behind her, she'd tell me, a sadder cast to her. She was different person then, she'd say. But just the right person to attract my father.

Mother never told me his name. She told me other things. She told me he was prince. He liked to party, though. Liked to indulge and play around. She'd been a spitfire then, just the sort to catch his eyes. They'd gotten together, shared a bed more times than she could count and more commonly than he'd ever done with any other woman.

That was how I was born. It was on Heart's Day, she told me with a soft smile as she looked at something I couldn't see. The day for Lovers. That day, my father had been more romantic than she'd ever seen him; taken her on a date with flowers and music and fireflies once it was dark enough. Their night had been filled with something that was more like love making than the plain sex they'd had any time before.

It was the best day of her life. It was also the last time she saw him. And the night she found out his true name.

Mother told me, once I'd come of age, eighteen and more than ready to leave and join a guild, that the name he'd first given her was Sam Guevenne. On the night I was conceived, he finally admitted to being Sanguine.

I hadn't known what to say, then. Admittedly, I still don't. How's someone supposed to act when they find out their father is a Daedric Prince? The one of _revelry, debauchery,_ and _indulgence_ , no less?

At least I know to avoid Stendarr's followers now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just something I really wanted to write.  
> I was just thinking one day: what if the main character of Skyrim was half-Daedra? Like, you can pretty much make the character whatever you want, can imagine whatever life you want for them, so why not this? So I tried to write something based on that. Sanguine was the obvious choice for the father.


	2. Chapter 2

My life hasn't always been filled with adventures. Before this Dragonborn business, my mother and I lived a quiet life, mostly, on the farm we work just outside of Helgen. Her sister and brother-in-law, as well as their two children, stay with us, though most times it's only Gisela and her young daughter. Their eldest and Hrodgar are the ones who hunt and take bounties to bring an income. As such, we rarely see them.

Our farm is a popular one in this area, though mother often fears that the Black-Briars will come after us. Our vineyard has never quite grown to those heights of competition, thankfully, though Wilhelm likes our wine well enough.

I think it's funny, sometimes, how this is where my mother ended up. Especially once she told me the full tale of my father, though I've just kind of accepted the fact that we make wine for a living by now. The reasoning behind this lifestyle, however, took on a new depth once I knew.

I've heard about the Daedra, the Dark Princes. In these parts, the most often talked about is Clavicus Vile, if only for his rumored proximity. It's the reason not many live in Helgen these days. That, and the vampires that live at the Prince's shrine.

But Sanguine travels; wherever there's a tavern or a bar, he's sure to show up. I've never seen him in Helgen, but since the only times I'm at the inn is to drop off a shipment, this doesn't surprise me. Maybe I will one day. Maybe I won't. For some reason, it doesn't really bother me.

Maybe I get my laid back attitude from him. Divines know my mother worries about everything.


	3. Chapter 3

Ever since Helgen (as I refer to it, with small shudders every time), I've traveled. I suppose I've become what my uncle is – a bit of a bounty hunter, but mostly an adventurer. I haven't seen him often enough to tell him this, though. Last I heard of him, he was heading to Markarth. Something about handling the uprisings.

Knowing what I do about the Forsworn, I don't envy him. I'll take nice, quiet Whiterun, thank you. The most I have to deal with here are bandits and wolves and that suits me fine, though I could do without the giants. And the company.

"You there," someone says next to me and I look up automatically, lifting an unimpressed brow at the soldier. _Company like him,_ I mentally complain. He has his arms crossed, with something that might be a glare on his face if he wasn't looking so arrogant. "I challenge you to a drink off," he announces, falling onto the stool beside me.

Behind him, I see what can only be two of his friends snickering, and realize they've just set him up. He's new to town, obviously, and hasn't heard of my reputation.

Too bad for him.

"If you're paying," I say with a laugh, grin hidden by my mug of ale. My challenger agrees, spark of fire in his eyes. _Not for long_ , I think, downing my current drink and wordlessly gesturing for another.

We'll see how long this guy lasts.

* * *

I wake to the sound of banging pots. The noise isn't much louder than what's needed to pull me from sleep and I roll over with a quiet groan, hiding my face under my pillow. Across the room from me, someone lets out a strangled scream. My challenger apparently _regrets_ the events of last night, I think with a grin.

It's even funnier to me – and all the witnesses – because this guy won't remember a second of it.

I hope his friends enjoy the blackmail they've collected.


	4. Chapter 4

Sometimes, when I'm home and relaxing in its little sphere of calmness away from the war, my aunt tasks me with looking after her daughters.

I like the little brats, more now than when I was still a brat myself, and it's nice to spend time with my family. Freya is the eldest at fifteen, only four years younger than me, and she's the one that gets to follow Hrodgar around. They hunt for the family, bringing home enough game to last the week between the six of us, and sometimes Hrodgar will take Freya along with him when he's taking a bounty.

Freya tells me everything they do, and we get to share our adventures with each other, though mine definitely outshine her own. After all, _I'm_ the one with the worst luck – Freya's never had to fight a dragon.

She says she wants to. That bandits and elk are boring and a _dragon_ – now that's a real battle.

It is a battle, but not one I ever want Freya to partake in. Maybe one day she'll actually see a dragon, and my warning for her to _stay away_ will really take hold. I can but hope.

Lilja is a lot younger, only just eleven, and she's sensible enough to know that the safest place is with her mother and aunt. She's cute too, dirty blond hair and speckled hazel eyes, set on a face that's usually flushed with childish enthusiasm. Lilja's the one I actually seem to play with, since she's the one who likes dragging her big warrior cousin to her small set of chairs to have tea with.

Freya laughs at me. But after all the horror I've seen, I can't find it in me to be annoyed or embarrassed by either of them. It's just amazing to see such innocence during these times.

And if I hug Lilja just as tightly every time she grabs me, well, she's never told me to stop.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Addressing some things about the character that you probably haven't noticed you didn't know.

For some reason entirely unknown to me, guards have the tendency to be hostile at least half the time. I mean, perhaps I deserved it in Kynesgrove, not that their reaction was anywhere close to reasonable. I didn't even hurt the chicken! I just, maybe, tapped it as I walked past, nothing to go up in arms about.

But, I digress. Even in Whiterun, the city I stay in most often, the guards take gruff attitudes with me, only to turn around and be entirely friendly. I wonder for their collective sanity at times.

"Stay out of trouble, Breton," one says as I walk past.

Two minutes later, I hear "Enjoying the calm, kinsman?" It's from a different guard, obviously, and one that decides to think I'm a Nord. Which my mother is, so I sort of am, but there's still my father's side of the family to consider.

If people ask, I tell them the truth – or as much of it that makes sense. "I'm half and half. Nord and Breton." Because Sanguine likes his games, mother tells me, and when she met him, he was a Breton. Thankfully, that means I look like a Breton in the right light, instead of a Daedric Prince – however they look. Considering I've never met my father, I wouldn't know what a Daedra is supposed to look like.

Sometimes, I have a good laugh thinking I could have been born with _horns_.

But guards have to be the most frustrating people in the world. Maybe it's because they do much of nothing, as Whiterun is free of disputes outside of the children (who do no lasting harm) and the Companions (who are self-contained anyway). Perhaps it's a job requirement to talk to every passerby, even if I've only rarely seen them speak to a resident of the city. Maybe it's just because it's me, the new face in town, the _Dragonborn_.

Either way, it's becoming annoying. And entirely too common, as I've encountered this attitude in every city I've gone to. Riften, at least, changes the dialogue up a bit, otherwise I would believe a guard is given a textbook to memorize on their first day.

Of course, that's not to say I _like_ being called a thief. Even if they're right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A reviewer on FFN mentioned how he didn't know squat about the character but hadn't even noticed until I asked people what they thought the MC's gender was. Which reminded me that _I_ didn't know anything about my own character. So here's a chapter about race. And guards.


	6. Night to Remember 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter one of the Night to Remember arc! Finally! Yay!

I met him at the Winking Skeever, two years after I found out about him. He looks plain, and I almost dismiss him but something about him just... seems to call to me. So I sit next to him and order a tankard of ale.

"Nice night for a drink," he says and I nod, watching him from the corner of my eye.

"If you disregard the execution, sure," I say and shrug when he arcs an eyebrow at me.

He goes to say something else, then pauses and takes a moment to look me over. I try not to feel uncomfortable by the assessment, but it feels... weird. Finally, he says, "You seem familiar. Have we met somewhere?"

"No, but I've heard of you," I tell him, smirking from behind the lip of my mug. He frowns. "You're a very memorable person, Sam," I say with no small amount of humor.

He jerks away from me, looking bewildered. Probably because he hasn't given me his name yet, and because the people he makes an impression on often forget the night over the course of their hangover.

I sigh, setting the tankard down with a responding thud. "You once knew a woman named Eydis," I start, smiling when he freezes, eyes wide. I can see him connecting the dots and confirm it with a nod. "I'm her son."

What I don't say – _'I'm your son'_ – is heard just as clearly.

"Damn," I hear him whisper, a mere breath that's only just loud enough to be audible. I'm not sure whether I should be disheartened when the very next thing he does is down his entire glass of liqueur.

_At least,_ I think gratefully, _my mother chose the one Prince least likely to pitch a fit._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~and the gender is revealed~~


	7. Night to Remember 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> chapter two of this arc

_This is insane_ , I think, somehow, in the part of my mind that's working amid my adrenaline rush. I can't stop grinning as we run and, beside me, Sanguine barks out laughter that makes me want to cheer. This is exhilarating in a way I haven't felt in _years_ , not since the dragons and the civil war and everything else I've pushed away for this night.

Behind us, the villagers rage and shout and I think I just heard one of them start crying. Maybe that's the one we stole the goat from. I want to feel bad about that, really I do, but I'm having so much fun that I just can't find it in me to.

The goat runs along behind me, because I'm the one that got saddled with her, and Sanguine's guiding me to wherever it is we're going next on this crazy scavenger hunt. The village disappears behind the hill we just crossed and then I see just what we're heading towards.

A giant. Oh no.

My steps falter, but Sanguine grins back at me, all sharp teeth and bright eyes and I shake my head. Why not? That definitely isn't the craziest thing I've done, but it's near the top.

It's also something I can check off my nonexistent list of things to do before I die.

Sanguine does all the talking, plus a little bit of Daedric magic to keep the giant calm enough to buy the goat in exchange for some items.

We walk away with a Giant's toe and thousands of Septims in jewels, sans one stolen goat.

"What do we need any of this for?" I wonder as we walk east. We've already conned a Hagraven out of a few feathers, though the way Sanguine made me do it leaves much to be desired. At least I managed to take back the ring.

My father winks at me, cheeky grin in place. "You'll see," he says cheerfully.

Now that the adrenaline's wearing off, I'm not sure if I _want_ to. But I've already started and a part of me doesn't want to quit now.

The reward better be worth it though.


	8. Night to Remember 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this one's longer than the rest but whatever

East ended up being Markarth and now I really wish I _could_ get drunk. It would absolutely destroy my ability to sneak around, but at least then I'd have an excuse for where I am.

I can see it now. I'd wake up with a splitting headache and tell the priestess I have no idea why I'm in her temple, really. I can't remember _anything_ from yesterday, so you really aren't allowed to curse me or whatever it is you do to blasphemers. And she'd be mad – I'd be mad, if I was her – and make me atone in some petty way, then kick me out of the temple I'm not allowed in to begin with.

But I can't get drunk, so I'm doing this completely sober, even after a bottle of Daedric liqueur. And, because I'm completely sober, I can come to the conclusion that, once I'm out of this temple, I'm going to _punch my father in the face._

The Temple of Dibella in Markarth is totally off-limits to everyone of the male gender. Which includes me, obviously, but that didn't stop Sanguine from chuckling and ordering me into the building to steal a jug of Holy Water.

Holy Water. Why would a Daedric Prince need Holy Water? I don't know, Sanguine wouldn't tell me, and no one would be stupid enough to answer my question if I asked them.

So stealing Holy Water it is then.

 _I'm going to die I'm going to die_ , I chant, heart beating at least three times as fast as it usually does. If the priestesses don't kill me, I'm going to have a heart attack. And when I do, I'm going to laugh in Sanguine's face, then punch him, then try and figure out how to see my mother and tell her why I've died.

Then I'm going to laugh as my mother finds Sanguine and punches him. Maybe I'll be able to haunt him and mess up all his little jokes for the rest of eternity. It'd serve him right.

However, I'm not quite dead yet, so none of those plans have any hold. Right now, the only plan is breaking into the temple, stealing that Water, and getting out alive and unseen.

Ha, what a riot. I really am going to punch him.

The guards don't even look at me as I wander through the streets of Markarth and only one eyes me as I start climbing up the stairs. Soon, he's out of sight and since I'm not actually that close to the temple I'm not supposed to be in, he doesn't come scrambling after me. There are no other guards. The lock opens easily, and the door is silent as it swings open. My footsteps as just as silent, leather armor muffling any sound I could have made.

The inside of the temple is very... golden. The walls are stone, like everything else in this city, but every piece of decoration is made of gold. Especially the multitude of Dibella statues. Those are definitely gold. And judging. I can just feel her stare, her frown as I whisper through the halls.

Oh well. I'm already cursed by the Divines, probably, just by existing. Let's give them an actual reason to hate me.

 _Stay calm stay calm_ , is my new chant. If my heart beats too fast, my breathing follows and once that's erratic, people can hear it. If I keep calm, my breathing is silent and I might actually get away with this.

Everyone's asleep. Of course, I'd planned for that which is why it's two in the morning. My path through the temple is uninterrupted and I soon find myself in the deepest room, where there's a cistern in the middle of the room.

It's full of Holy Water. I can _feel_ that from the door and the stench of it makes me want to gag. Well. I never thought that would happen.

I wonder again why Sanguine needs a jug of it. And why he thought it would be a good idea to send _me_ out to get it. I'm his son, half-Daedra, so shouldn't he theorize that I probably _can't_ touch the stuff? How am I going to get a jug full if I can't even stand to be in the same room as it?

Maybe the priestesses have a contained supply. I glance around the room and spy an archway leading to a storage room. _Yes!_ For once, I have good luck.

I resist the urge to do a happy dance. It would only get me caught.

The storage room is full of things like herbs and preserved food. Near the back, though, is something that looks like a wine-rack, but the cubbies are bigger and hold clay jugs. From the smell, all of them are full of Holy Water.

I grab one, stuff it in my bag, and make as quiet of a mad dash for the exit as I can.

The air outside is blissfully cool and _free_ and I sag against a wall, one level below the temple.

I did it. Divines, I _actually did it_. My heart races, euphoria of _surviving_ pulsing through me and making all my nerves shake. My fingers are twitching. I'm sure if anyone could see me right now, they'd say my eyes were wild.

I let out something that sounds like a hysterical giggle.

Now I just need to find Sanguine and deck him.


	9. Night to Remember 4

My father isn't outside the city gate where we parted ways. Of course. Bloody bastard.

The guards standing duty don't know where he left to, though he said something about a wedding in Morvunskar. Maybe he's there? The guard shrugs at me, then fingers the mace at his hip. I scramble to leave, wondering all the while _why_ guards are hostile half the time.

At least I haven't hurt any of their chickens here. Kynesgrove still won't forgive me. I mean, _come on_! I didn't even see the blasted bird, how was I supposed to know I couldn't walk that way?

The chicken survived. I almost didn't.

But that's neither here nor there. What's here is that I need to get out of Forsworn territory and to wherever Morvunskar is.

* * *

Morvunskar is an old fort across the river from Windhelm, all the way at the other side of the province.

Morvunskar is also crawling with Wizards that shoot first and ask questions never. I can imagine they don't get invited to parties. Ever.

"I'm going to kill him," I grumble under my breath as I continue to ghost through the hallways. It _seems_ clear right now, but who knows what's going to pop out from behind that corner? So far, it's been humanoids – next thing I know, Mehrunes is going to send some of his Dremora to the party. A few of the Wizards have already summoned Atronachs – I'm nursing a burn on one arm and frostbite on the other.

"Going to punch him in the _face_ ," I growl threateningly at a nearby table. The table doesn't even quake.

Besides the Wizards, the entire castle is trapped. I had to dodge fire spouts outside and more Runes than I can count inside. That is, of course, ignoring the other fire spouts and spiked gates and all those lovely things the Ancient Nords left when they died.

"He will be _dead_ ," I continue to growl, entirely aware of how deranged I sound. My eyes are probably wild again, not that anyone around here will stay alive long enough to notice.


	10. Night to Remember 5

The last room of the castle has way too many Wizards, all of whom _love_ fire spells. I've come to hate fire spells, and after sniping as many as I can with my bow, I give up stealth and charge at the remaining pair, hoping that _just maybe_ I can lop off the leader's head before he sets me on fire.

I almost succeed, but walk away with a burn right next to the frostbite on my left arm. It's an odd feeling.

At the top of the stairs, a swirling, purple-black portal fades into sight. I relax unconsciously as I approach it, probably because of the part of me that's Daedric. The part that feels the magic and decides to associate it with _home_.

The portal dispenses me in a forest clearing, or a garden, or something filled with lots of nature, lit by torchbugs and random lanterns and ambient light that I don't know the origin of. It's relaxing, at the very least, and I take a moment to enjoy it, my shoulders relaxing and my annoyance fading away.

Then I wrestle it back, because I _am_ annoyed about this stupid quest. Holy Water. Honestly.

The trail through the garden leads me to a table full of drunken people, all quietly (thankfully) chatting with each other and laughing at things. Their mugs seem to be charmed to stay full, because there are no bottles on the table, but everyone has a mug in their hand. None of them notice me, even the ones facing the path, so I bypass them and head towards the man standing by a bench made from a fallen tree.

"Good, you made it," he says jovially, gesturing for me to join him. Before I do, I take the items I'd been sent to retrieve and set them on the empty end of the table. The party goers ignore their presence.

Then I stalk towards my father, scowling fiercely.

"What. In _Oblivion_. Made you think it was a good idea to have _me_ steal Holy Water?" I ask him, incredulous and two steps away from punching him in the jaw. Sanguine grins at me and shrugs.

"But you did it in the end, didn't you?" he points out. Then he frowns at the jug sitting casually on the table, a reasonable twenty feet away from the both of us. "Now _what_ are we going to do with that?" he wonders.

At which point I think it's perfectly reasonable to give up my impressive restraint and finally deck him.

Daedric Princes are less sturdy than I thought they were. Or maybe it's just Sanguine. Either way, shaking out my fist and watching as Sanguine groans on the ground, I feel pretty good. Physical combat really _is_ a good stress reliever.


	11. Night to Remember 6 - Finale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The last chapter of the N2R arc

When Sanguine can stand again, he all but pouts at me, trying to look repentant and pathetic.

It doesn't work.

He sighs, cracks his neck a few times, then waves his hand towards the table. The items I collected, minus the Holy Water, vanish, though I can tell by his frown that the Water was supposed to disappear too. He gestures sharply, but the jug is resilient and the only thing it does is shake slightly.

Finally, Sanguine gives up and settles for pushing the jug to the other side of the table, far away from us. I can't quite smell it from here, but my father frowns at it for an extra second, then turns to me.

"So!" he claps, grinning, and suddenly his form changes. Where once stood a slightly homely looking Breton, is now an armored Daedra, complete with dark skin, war paint, and horns.

I just _knew_ I could have been born with horns.

"I think you're definitely earned the staff," Sanguine says. I blink a few times.

"'The staff'?" I parrot back.

He rubs his chin. "Huh. I must have forgotten to mention it. Nonetheless, you, my boy, are now the proud owner of my not-quite-holy staff, the one of a kind–" he pauses dramatically, waving his hand and letting the mysterious staff materialize, then hands it over to me. "Sanguine Rose!"

It really is a giant rose. I handle it carefully, leery of the barbs all along the staff.

"Sanguine Rose," I mutter, purposely just loud enough for him to hear. "Could you _be_ any more arrogant?"

"Hey now," Sanguine pouts. It doesn't work any better than his previous attempts and I just stare at him flatly. He sighs. "You should feel honored, you know. That staff is an _artifact_. People would _kill_ to get it."

"It's a family heirloom," I banter back with a smirk. "There's no _honor_ involved."

He pouts again. I ignore it with what's becoming practiced ease.

"Anyway," my father coughs. "To use it, just point it somewhere and focus a little. It'll summon a Dremora to help you. He'll only stick around for so long, and you need to charge the staff, but it'll come in handy."

It will. I can just imagine how put out Alduin would be if he came face to face with an angry Dremora when he was expecting just me. I can imagine a lot of other things, too. Like how horrified my mother would be if she came home to see me and a demon cooking up supper.

"Please don't punch me again," Sanguine adds in a pathetic voice when I go to leave. "You inherited your mother's right hook."

The last thing he hears from me as I fade out of sight is a hearty laugh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone wants to draw fanart of this story (unlikely, but an author can hope) I would _love_ to see a Dremora in a frilly pink apron cooking dinner.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's pretend that the Nords have myths about the Norse gods, shall we? I've already broken the lore in this story, so let's do it some more.

"My little trickster," my mother murmurs real quietly, brushing my hair away from my forehead. I grin up at her, as cheekily as a seven year old can, even though the action tugs at the new cut on my cheek. I ignore it with practiced ease, along with the scrapes on both my knees and elbows. They're nothing new; my tumbles through the farm with the few neighbor kids are frequent, and when we _play_ at being warriors ("It's practice!" I tell mom indignantly every time) cuts are a given. Even if the weapons are dull and barely even cut the plants, sometimes someone gets a hit in at a lucky angle.

'Course, that's when I manage to hoodwink the rest of them and come out victorious in our scrapes without any of them figuring out how I did it. Which is where mom's ridiculous habit of calling me "Loki" comes in.

Never mind all the little pranks I pull around the house, switching salt and sugar and hiding things where nobody ever thinks to look.

Uncle Hrodgar still hasn't found his sharpening block. I just laugh when he asks me about it.

* * *

I think my childhood nickname (not that it _stayed_ in my childhood) may have been something my mother used to acknowledge my father even before she told me about him. While not _exactly_ like the Trickster, Sanguine does have the flair for pranks and gaiety, even if his activities usually end with someone in his bed. Or multiple someones, if all the tales are true.

(There must be something off about me if thinking about that _doesn't_ disgust me. It's just... the way he is? I suppose after all the stories and lore I've heard about him, I've gotten used to the idea.)

Perhaps not so secretly, I rather enjoy my nickname. It gives me something interesting to live up to besides the whole _Dragonborn_ thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've edited this to include a timeline so you guys know when these things are happening. I'm going to start adding dates at the top of the next arc, which is starting after this chapter. It's the only arc (I hope) that will be out of chronological order with the rest.  
> Next chapter will hopefully be up in a few days.


	13. How it Began 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first chapter of the "How it Began" arc.  
> Basically, the main quest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This introduces _Drama_ as the third genre, and maybe some angst? I have no idea what counts as angst.  
>  Takes place directly after the first chapter.

_Sundas, 17 Last Seed, 4E 201_

We were on our farm when the dragon attacked.

Mother told me about my father only just last week and I thought that was to be the last of the surprises in my life.

I was, obviously, mistaken.

The tavern of Helgen was our main client, though Vilod managed to compete with us. To be fair, we made wine, while she made her specialty mead, so there wasn't much competition. Either way, I was the one who ran our barrels to the village, so I knew the people there. I would visit, on the days when I had nothing else to do, and sometimes I would play with the village children. The friends of my childhood lived there.

Then, one morning, I wake to the smell of fire and people screaming and terrible, horrifying shouts of destruction.

Later, I learned that the last voice I was hearing was from a dragon, from _Alduin_ , and that all my mother heard were roars. She couldn't hear the words underneath, couldn't understand them the way I could. She didn't know that he was calling down fire, that he was breathing an inferno. She can guess, however, from what remains of the village when we scour it later in the night.

There are a few survivors, surprisingly. Most are soldiers, badly burned and limping as they try to make it to Falkreath, to Riverwood. The rest are children.

Vilod didn't survive. Uldir didn't survive. Neither did their remains.

I'm not ashamed to admit that I lost my stomach at the sight of the corpse filled streets. Most are unrecognizable, burned to a crisp and smoking. The few that aren't made me wish they were.

We don't help with the clean up. I can't even imagine trying to. They had been my friends; there's no way I could have been able to look at their bodies and not break down. So I don't help and my mother leads me home, where we spend the night huddled by the fire with a few bottles of alcohol, trying to forget what we saw.

The nightmares that follow inform me that I'll never forget.


	14. How it Began 2

_Morndas, 18 Last Seed, 4E 201_

The next day, my mother quietly asks me to go to Whiterun, to tell the Jarl. I don't want to – why should it be me? Surely one of those soldiers went to the city.

She persists and I end up going, though my steps are heavy with the news I'm bringing.

The Whiterun gates are blocked and guarded, but they open when I tell the man I bring news of Helgen. Obviously, rumors have spread this far. Now I'll see if the truth has as well.

No one looks panicked, though the woman at the forge looks overworked and tired. More weapons for the soldiers, even if they'll do little against this enemy. I almost pity them, thinking of what we heard and what we found in the aftermath. They don't deserve that death.

Dragonsreach is the highest point in Whiterun, and that's where my feet take me. I try not to look as dispirited as I feel, but given the odd looks I garner, it's a losing battle. Either way, they let me pass, let me push open the doors and stride purposely towards the Jarl.

His housecarl almost stops me at sword point, but something on my face must have reassured her that _no_ , I'm not here to kill the Jarl or something equally as stupid. Jarl Balgruuf pauses his argument with his adviser and waits patiently for me to speak.

"A dragon destroyed Helgen," I say, and everyone in earshot falls silent.

"A dragon?" the Jarl repeats quietly. I nod, and he asks, "how do you know?"

"My family, we own a vineyard between there and Falkreath. Yesterday, I– I woke to their screams."

"So you weren't there?" he clarifies and I nod again. The adviser scoffs.

"Then how can we believe anything you say?"

"There were survivors," I shoot back. "Soldiers, children. The village was still burning when we came to see it. And the whole countryside saw that– _thing_ , fly away."

"We believe you," the Jarl cuts in before his adviser can say anything else. "And we thank you for coming to inform us. If there's anything else you can tell me..."

"The soldiers will need help," I say, thinking back. "Most settled in camps near the village, and some managed to make it to Falkreath, but a lot of them are still injured. And the people of Riverwood are requesting guards."

"We'll see what we can manage," Balgruuf informs me. I nod again and leave when he dismisses me. But then, when I start down the steps, I remember something else.

"My Jarl?" I turn back to him, frowning. "There was– I'm not sure what it was, but I heard– under its roar, the dragon was speaking. My mother couldn't hear it, but I know it was there."

And now more people are staring and I shift uncomfortably. After a tense moment, the Jarl stands and beckons for me to follow.

"Come. There may be something else you can help with."


	15. How it Began 3

_Morndas, 18 Last Seed, 4E 201. Midday_

The Jarl heads for the room on the right, where a man is mixing a potion and humming over whatever his notes say. Balgruuf clears his throat and the man jumps. He manages to catch his mortar before it falls to the ground, but a few drops of whatever's in it splashes to the floor.

The floor hisses.

The man has the decency to look sheepish when the Jarl frowns at him. "Farengar," he says after a long pause. He gestures towards me and the man's eyes dart my way. "I've found someone who can help with your... project."

"Have you now?"

He steps closer to examine me, circling me in a disquieting manner. Another long moment later, the Jarl speaks again, his voice low; "He said he heard a dragon speaking."

"It was calling down fire," I whisper, shivering. Farengar suddenly looks a lot more interested.

"You could understand its speech?" he asks and I nod, starting to get annoyed. Haven't I said that already? "Then why didn't you just say–"

"I don't think he knows the significance of it," the Jarl interrupts. They both peer at me.

It takes a minute – I _am_ a generally patient person – before I break. "What don't I understand?"

"The dragons have their own language," the Jarl says and my stomach sinks. "Their words have power, it's what we call _the voice_ or Thu'um. Only with dedicated study and time can someone learn this. That is what the Greybeards have done, all their life."

"But I could..."

"Yes. And that is the _other_ way someone learns. If it's in their blood."

"If they're Dragonborn," I finish in a whisper.

If either man thought I'd be excited by this news, they're mistaken. They're also probably taken aback when I drop my head into my hands with a groan.

Because it's starting to look like it's _just my luck_ that _I_ turn out to be the mythical Chosen One when my father is a Daedric Prince. See how willing they are to trust me once they know _that_.

I don't look forward to that news coming out. And knowing my luck, it will, in the worst possible way.


	16. How it Began 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter. Sorry for how long that took.

_Morndas, 18 Last Seed, 4E 201. Afternoon_

Farengar's project is researching dragons and, specifically, finding some tablet called the Dragonstone.

He sends me out on a fools errand to retrieve it from a Nordic ruin where it "may or may not be". He doesn't even wait for my opinion of this quest, just sends me away and goes back to his poison.

Bleak Falls Barrow is not somewhere I like to be. It's cold, for one, because of all the holes in the ceiling and all the snow that's drifted in. For another, it's crawling with dead things that won't _stay_ dead.

"Kren sosaal!" the one before me shouts. Like with the dragon, what _I_ hear is 'break and bleed', which isn't a very nice thing to say. Granted that I _can_ bleed and this thing can't, it takes on a whole new irony.

It's easy enough to break the Draugr, at least, even if it is unnerving to see the body continue moving without its legs. Only a solid blow to the head seems to keep them down. "Aus ko hin qoth," I tell the remains of its body before I skulk into another passage of this Talos damned tomb.

The Dragonstone better be here, because I don't want to try again in a different ruin, with more undead things and more traps and more stale air. I'm surprised I can even breathe down here. I wouldn't have thought the ancients had ventilation, but if there's breathable air this deep underground, they must have. Why they would have ventilation in their tombs, I don't know. Maybe they knew their _dearly deceased_ would rise again.

Either way, I hate them for this. Something that's dead should _stay_ dead. Not get up in the middle of the night for a _snack_.

Once I find this Dragonstone and get it back to the wizard, I'm going home. I'll need at least a week before I can even _think_ of going into another cave or hideout.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Kren sosaal" means "break and bleed" as the narrator said. Source: the official game. "Aus ko hin qoth" means "suffer in your tomb". Source: [UESP.net](http://www.uesp.net/wiki/Lore:Dragon_Language)


	17. How it Began 5

 

_Morndas, 18 Last Seed, 4E 201_

Before all the undead monsters, the first living people I found were bandits.

Were, because they're all dead now, either by my hand or their own stupidity. I mean, seriously. That puzzle wasn't that hard to figure out and the pillars moved without much effort on my part. The bandit's arrogance killed him more than the dart trap he walked right into.

After the stupid bandits, I find their leader – an Elven thief, caught in a web and at the mercy of a Frostbite Spider larger than a carriage.

It's wounded already, though, and I cut it down with an ease I've acquired after years of bounty hunting. And then I turn to the bandit.

He babbles something about how grateful he is to me for slaying what would have been his killer, and begs me to let him loose. I do so, and watch with a flat expression as the man jeers at me then runs, dashing further into the ruin with loud footsteps.

Footsteps loud enough to wake the dead.

I find his body further in, past Draugr that snarled insults and threats at me, and died for a second time moments later. His body lays crumpled in the middle of an empty room and, like any dungeon delver, I search his body for treasures.

I find gems and a journal filled with rants and vague instructions, but what truly catches my eye is the ornament.

Solid gold, as best I can figure, and shaped like what the journal says is a dragons claw. On it's palm, there are three upraised circles with animal engravings, some of which I remember from the dart trap a few levels above me.

A skim through the journal confirms that this is a key, and I would bet anything that it's needed to get into the room holding the Dragonstone.

And, as always when I make dreadful predictions, I'm right.


	18. How it Began 6

_Tirdas, 19 Last Seed, 4E 201. Early morning_

The last room, beyond the puzzle door, is a cavern. There are bats, high in the ceiling, and a waterfall that hasn't yet managed to flood the place. I can feel a breeze, which might have been the "ventilation" the ancient Nords put in.

Across the stream, there's a wall. And in my head, there's chanting.

I can't read what's written, the claw marks too strange and alien, but there's one word that catches my eye. It's off center but all I can see. And it might be my imagination, but it looks like it's glowing.

The chanting grows louder.

 _Force_ echoes in my mind, pushing and loud and I almost fall to my knees. My vision wavers. My world feels like it's been forced to grow sevenfold, and the pain that brings almost knocks me out, almost sends every stale ration I've eaten back up for a second taste.

And then it stops. The wind that I hadn't even noticed dies down and the wall is just a wall again, a tombstone engraved with messages lost to time. The silence stretches, with just the quiet sound of trickling water to break it.

Behind me, stone splits with a thundering crack and the dead roars.

Cursing myself for not paying any attention to my surroundings, I ignore the existence of the strange new word for the time being. I spin around instead, and see a Draugr glaring at me, greatsword held at the ready.

" _Dir volaan,_ " it snarls and rushes forward.

I only just get away, the sleeve of my armor torn. My strategy, until my mind shifts gears again, is _run_ because if I've learned _anything_ in this horrid ruin, it's that the dead are slow. And stupid, I think gratefully, hidden behind the tomb wall and across another stream. The creature is growling, stalking about the cavern.

"Genun hinmaar!" it calls and I have to stop myself from chuckling. It sounds so _frustrated_ that if I wasn't scared for my life (some of the Draugr were horrendously difficult to put down) I would go out there and taunt it. Like, throw a stone one way, then another just to piss it off.

Instead, I draw an arrow and squint.

The first shot hits its head and it staggers. While it's hunched over, I let another fly.

This time, the Draugr doesn't get up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Dir volaan" means "die intruder". Source: the official game. "Genun hinmaar" means "reveal yourself". Source: [Thu'um.org](http://www.thuum.org/translate.php)


	19. How it Began 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kind of a filler chapter, sorry. Not that this entire story _isn't_ kind of like filler content... oh well. Enjoy?

_Tirdas, 19 Last Seed, 4E 201. Morning_

The Dragonstone is in the chest next to the Draugr's tomb. There are other things inside the chest as well, things that'll net me a pretty Septim once I'm back in Whiterun, and I fill my bag almost to capacity.

Then I escape up the stairs and through a sneaky tunnel back to open air and freedom.

Despite being high up on a cliff and with snow to my ankles, I stop and just breathe. The air out here is crisp and a godsend after being inside a tomb. And the view from here is amazing – I can see as far as Falkreath, even though the mist obscures it. Half-Moon Mill sits on the opposite bank of Lake Ilinatla, silent at this time of the day.

The sky is clear but for a few clouds, and that alone makes me relax my shoulders.

A few more seconds of peace, then I start the trek down the mountain side and back towards Whiterun. And all the while, I feel that foreign knowledge pulse in the back of my mind.

* * *

I enter the city just after noon and stop at the first tavern I find – the Drunken Huntsmen, the sign says – for something to eat.

My own supplies lasted me fine while in the depths of a crypt, but rations are always second to actual food. And, at this point, I don't even really care if it's tavern food instead of something I would have at home. _Anything_ is better after eating what tastes like bark and doing so that far underground.

Elrindir is friendly enough, though the way the Bosmer comments on my hunting habits is vaguely disturbing. I can deal, however, because the man knows how to cook and his prices aren't as high as I remember from other places.

Nonetheless, I'm glad to leave, even if I don't particularly want to see Farengar again. I _am_ getting tired of the weight of this stone, but there's something... _prickling_ at the edge of my perception.

Something bad is going to happen. Soon.


	20. How it Began 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A quick update to make up for the filler one/the slow speed of previous updates

_Tirdas, 19 Last Seed, 4E 201. Afternoon_

There's a woman pouring over a book at Farengar's workstation when I wander into the room. She looks up for one disinterested second, then returns to scowling at the tome.

Similarly, I ignore her as I pull the Dragonstone out of my pack. Farengar all but gushes over it and the woman looks over when he thunks it down next to her.

"Seems you're a cut above the usual brutes the Jarl sends my way," Farengar tells me cheerfully.

"I would hope so," I mumble, not quite loud enough for him to hear. By the amused glance I get from the as of yet unnamed woman, I deduce that she heard me just fine, and is just as tired with Farengar as I am.

"My... associate here will be pleased with your handiwork," he continues and I catch the slightest hint of an eye roll from his "associate" when he speaks like she isn't there. "She discovered its location, by means she has so far declined to share with me."

"You actually went into Bleak Falls Barrow to get this?" she directs towards me, an impressed tone hidden in her otherwise bland voice.

"Not that I don't appreciate the approval," I say, "but _what_ , exactly, did you need this for?"

The woman smiles at me, and there's nothing nice in that expression. "That's not really something you need to know," she says coolly. She drops her attention back to the rock after that, and anything I try to say is ignored.

Not that I have the chance to say much of anything. A mere second after I'm dismissed, the Jarl's Housecarl rushes into the room, looking unsettled and almost _scared_ for the first time I've ever seen.

"Farengar, you have to come at once. A dragon's been sighted nearby."

My blood runs to ice, and all I can do is follow them as they rush off.


	21. How it Began 9

_Tirdas, 19 Last Seed, 4E 201. Afternoon_

After a debriefing that no one kicks me out of, I find myself running after a group of guards led by Irileth to the site of the attack.

The tower is crumbling in places, burning in others, and scorched carnage surrounds it. I see another tower in a town that doesn't exist anymore, and shudder.

The guards standing around the broken watchtower warn us to leave – the dragon may not be here now, but it will be back. It hasn't finished with us yet; it'll attack again until we're all dead.

He finishes speaking a second before a roar splits the sky and I look up with all the other soldiers just in time to see the creature wing its way around the tower with a shrill cry of "Yol Toor Shul!"

The fire it breathes is hotter than any I've ever felt and I act instinctively, darting away before I'm roasted. A dead guard lends me his bow and I pray to Hircine that my shots will hit.

Not all of them do, but _someone_ hits a wing, and the dragon falters, dipping sideways in midair before it decides that attacking from the ground is a better course of action. This gives it the advantage of biting any soldier stupid enough to get in range of its jaws, but lets the men fight with their swords, the weapon they're better trained with.

I've always been better with swordplay than with a bow, so I switch my weapons and target someplace hopefully safe and hopefully damaging.

The dragon makes a noise that could be called a scream when I slice at the unprotected flesh under where its wing meets its body. It tries to bite at me, but I'm in a spot too hard to reach, and I stay by its side as it shuffles around. The guards use the dragon's distraction to converge on it, and the battle degrades to war cries and hacking at any spot they can reach.

The dragon swings its head back towards the men, and I stab with all my strength, sword slipping in at its shoulder joint. The dragon gurgles, and I don't know dragon anatomy, but I'm sure I've hit its heart.

The dragon slumps heavily to the ground, and after waiting a long, tense moment for it to move again, we allow ourselves to relax. The battle is over, we're safe, it's done.

And then the lightshow begins.


	22. How it Began 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We're nearing the end of the arc!  
> And this chapter is the reason for the new mild-angst tag

_Tirdas, 19 Last Seed, 4E 201. Evening_

The dragon corpse lights up like a torch, and its skin peals away as if it's burning. The chanting in my head starts up again and my breath hitches as the light starts to swirl around me and a pressure like a vice seems to clamp down on my very soul. The feeling is the same as in Bleak Falls Burrow, but this time it's infinitely more intense and my body feels like it's burning – like the phantom fire surrounding the dragon transfers to me and scorches all the way down to my marrow.

This time, the urge to heave is too much and I end up hunched next to the dragon corpse, a puddle of gross liquid and blood at my feet, the total of what I had in my stomach.

The guards around me don't comment about the moment of weakness – they have other things to whisper about. Like how the lights and energy that caused my sickness has seeped into my skin and lit the embers of the word from the tomb into a fire that I can't ignore. Not that they know the last part.

"By Shor," one of the guards breathes. I look up at him, and see every living guard staring at me in shock and awe.

I almost want to scream, but there's a pressure at the back of my throat, and I know, deep _deep_ down, that if I try to speak right now, I'll hurt someone.

"Could it be?" another whispers, and suddenly they're all muttering, trading bedtime stories told to them by their families, and exchanging theories about _whatever_ just happened.

Irileth snaps at them to shut up, and most do, except for the guard closest to me, who won't stop staring.

"You're... _Dragonborn,_ " he whispers in obvious reverence.

And the name clicks, falls into place right next to the foreign word and the draconic magic, and is echoed by another.

_Dovahkiin._

I wonder if my father knows. I wonder if he sees the irony, and if he cares about the spectacle my life is becoming. I wonder if I'll ever find out.

But most of all, I wonder if there's a place I can go and _shout_ without fearing for anyone's life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so some angst because, heh, my Dragonborns don't _like_ being Dragonborn. Fancy that. Oops.  
>  Also, I imagine having foreign power absorbed into your soul is painful. Unless you're actually built to do that -stares pointedly at Salthjofr-


	23. How it Began 11

_Tirdas, 19 Last Seed, 4E 201. Night_

Irileth leaves with the guards to report back to the Jarl. I leave in the opposite direction, heading through the plains to somewhere away from people. My throat aches, and my heart races the longer I hold it in, but I don't know what exactly is building, and I can't let it out until I'm away from anything alive.

The only things in this area are emptied bandit hideouts, animal dens, and Giant camps. The Giants are mostly peaceful, but I don't want to provoke them, even accidentally, so I keep moving.

Eventually, I find myself at the foot of a stone spire, the Gjukar Monument, and the gloom makes the valley more eerie than it should be. It's almost the perfect place, too, if it weren't for the misty figure sitting at the base of the pillar.

The ghost looks up as I approach, and eyes me wearily. _"Daedra?"_ he whispers in an echoing voice. Leary of trying to speak, I shake my head, then shrug. _'No, but sort of,'_ is the translation, but I don't know if he understands.

_"Have you come to end my life?"_ the spirit questions warily. The phrasing puts me off, but after a moment, I figure it out. Whoever this ghost is, he doesn't know he's dead.

I shake my head again. The spirit relaxes and slumps back to lean against the monument. _"Then leave me be. She should be here soon."_

I don't question him, can't, and heed his words. I head west, cross the road, and find a place that is blessedly empty.

The pressure in my throat, in my mind, seems to understand that it's about to be freed, and it _pushes_ , surges forward with a sudden strength that I can't restrain. My hands fly to my throat and I hunch forward, and the word escapes in a flurry.

_"FUS!"_

The grass sways and some rips up, twigs fly and rocks scatter. But that's all. And finally, _finally_ , my head is quiet and still and it's the best feeling in the world.


	24. How it Began 12 - Finale

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tying up a loose end or two

_Middas, 20 Last Seed, 4E 201_

Rorikstead is but a half hours walk from the plateau, and I wander that way. The town has an Inn, as tiny as its populous, but it has open rooms, and I buy a night. Five hours later, with the sunlight peeking through the spaces in the walls, I wake and head out again.

I double back to the monument, but the spirit is gone now, hidden by the daylight. On the base of the spire are a few offerings – a knife, a flower, some Septims. I leave my own offering for the man, a garnet the size of my thumbnail, and return to the road.

At the next crossroads, I go south. Falkreath, then home. After everything that's happened since I left, I need my family again.

* * *

My mother is in the kitchen when I shuffle into the house, and the first thing she does is pull me into a tight hug.

The second thing she does is ask how my meeting with the Jarl went, and why it took so long.

As I recount the last three days to her, we migrate to the table and start on the breakfast Mother has laid out. It's good, as it always is, but it does nothing to fix the ache in my throat when I reach the part of my tale that involves the dragon fight, and the subsequent revelation.

"Dragonborn, huh?" Eydis muses against the rim of her cup. She doesn't sound surprised, and I narrow my eyes at the sight of her smile.

"You knew?" I ask, and try not to sound accusing.

"I suspected," she corrects, and sets down her cup with a sigh. "Some of our family books hint that my great-great-grandfather was Dragonborn. And considering who your father is... I'm not surprised the blood resurfaced in you."

I concede that, yes, the combination of a recessive gene and Daedric blood _might_ be able to bring it back to fore. There won't be any tomes on the subject, though, so I have no idea how true the theory is.

My mother reaches across the table to grab my hand and squeezes gently. "Stay safe, okay?" she asks of me, and I smile at her.

"I'll do my best," I promise.

And I will. If only for my mother's peace of mind, I will.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's a wrap, folks!  
> Just kidding.  
> Guild joining stuff will be next, and catching up the time line to the "Night to Remember" arc.


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little something since I haven't updated in more than a month. The next arc is... coming. Sort of. In a while.

There's a civil war in Skyrim.

My family stays out of it, as best we can, and it helps that we make wine. Everyone, soldiers and civilians alike, needs alcohol after seeing all the horror this country is going through. The phrase "don't bite the hand that feeds you" works all too well in this case, and even though Hrodgar and, to a lesser extent, Freya are out fighting more often than not, no one who knows our family name attacks them.

The vineyard protects us, just like the name Lindström protects us; we're out of the way, hidden in the back end of nowhere, south of Falkreath and Riverwood and thus too far away to sabotage.

That makes the few times I _do_ end up in a battle easier. None of the people out for revenge _know_ where the Lindström Vineyard is, so my family is safe. Other soldiers have family in the cities, or in the farms around them, and those are easy targets. _Those_ people can become hostages.

My family – my mother, aunt and little cousin – can't be, because they're hidden and safe.

Not that I would be a target for any but the overly zealous. I haven't joined a side, no matter what my Nord heritage says, and no one tries to force me to. A few of the soldiers I pass on the roads try to suggest it to me, but they don't push. They don't try and put me into a corner – Nord pride versus the Elves – and they don't do anything more than subtly guilt trip me into making a choice.

There is no choice, really. There are too many sides in play, not just the Empire against the rebellion. There are the Elves, who always have another motive, and whoever the Elves are really trying to move against. That fourth side is the only one we're not aware of, me and everyone with eyes and ears, and they're the ones I'm truly wary of.


	26. Professionally Unethical 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, yes, I'm still alive and this is still ongoing. Sorry for the wait.

_Turdas, 21 Last Seed, 4E 201. Afternoon_

I enter the city of Whiterun to find it overrun with rumors – about me, naturally, and the dragon and what happened after the battle.

After being accosted by no less than five guards within thirty feet of the gate – ignoring all the guards and civilians _outside_ the city walls – my nerves are frayed and I slip into the Hall of the Dead to escape them, at least for the moment. The reputation of the Hall, as well as the overwhelming odor of death and embalming fluid, should keep away all the people wishing to speak to me.

There's a priest sitting on one of the two benches just inside the door, and he rises to greet me. We exchange names – his is Andurs – and fall back into silence because, other than a place to hide, I have no reason for being here.

The priest eyes me, noting my armor and weapon. "How can I help you?" he asks to break the silence. I flounder for something to say, and finally an idea pops into my head.

"You wouldn't happen to have a cowl I could borrow, would you?" I ask only a little desperately. Andurs smiles at me, amused, and says he does. He disappears into an adjacent room, and returns a few minutes later with a handful of dark cloth.

"Hiding from someone?" he muses as I put on the cowl and tuck my hair into its shadows.

"Only all of Whiterun," I mumble, and sigh when Andurs looks alarmed. "I'm not a criminal," I reassure him, "I'm just... popular right now."

If realization had a physical sound, I would have heard it the second Andurs' eyes widen. "I see. So _you're_ the one everyone's speaking about."

I grimace, and Andurs chuckles at me. Deciding that I don't want to know what _he_ thinks of the rumors, I give him my thanks for the cowl, and duck back out of the Hall. No one stops me as I head up to Dragonsreach, and I breathe a sigh of relief.

Now I just need to survive the meeting with the Jarl.


	27. Professionally Unethical 2

_Turdas, 21 Last Seed, 4E 201. Afternoon_

Inside the palace, Irileth frowns at me and I lower my hood with a sheepish smile. She just purses her lips and glances up at the ceiling as if asking the Divines for patience.

Jarl Balgruuf looks amused, if a bit concerned. "Why wear a disguise?" he wonders.

"I didn't think I would be so... popular today," I hedge, and can't stop myself from glancing around at the few guards in the hall. When they catch me looking, they all scurry off to wherever they _should_ be. The Jarl huffs out a laugh, and when I look back at him, he's smirking.

"Yes, you made quite the impression. Our theory was correct then," he remarks. I incline my head in acknowledgment, and the act hides my grimace. As if he knows my discomfort, Balgruuf thankfully changes the subject. "But you did not return to reminisce."

"No, I didn't," I agree.

"Irileth told me what happened," the Jarl says, "and rumors tell the rest. But I want to hear it from you as well."

I take a deep breath and recount the battle. I skim over how frightened I was, and try to tell the more important parts. Like how it took all our forces to defeat the beast, and that was only after it was forced to land. Then we get to the interesting part, and my voice falters.

"After it died," I start, "it's skin just... burnt off. And something– I don't even know–"

"You absorbed its soul," Balgruuf finishes for me, and I nod. That statement is pale compared to the actual event, to the pain I felt when its soul forced itself to bond with mine, but I don't correct him. I don't want to remember it. "A few of my soldiers heard a shout when they were returning to the city," Balgruuf tells me after a pause.

"Oh?" I prompt, and wonder if what they heard was me or something else.

"Yes. One is certain he heard the word Dovahkiin," the Jarl says. I let out a sigh tinged with a bit of relief, but mostly resignation.

"The Greybeards are calling for me, then?" I ask even though I know the answer. My Jarl smiles at me in amusement.

"Yes. They should be able to teach you how to use your gift," he says, and looks wistful. "I envy you, you know?" Balgruuf says suddenly and I jolt a little. "To climb the seven thousand steps again... I made the pilgrimage once. High Hrothgar is a very peaceful place. Very... disconnected from the troubles of this world."

"And very cold," I add with a hint of a grin and Balgruuf laughs again.

"Aye, that it is. But we Nords can handle a little cold, now can't we?"

I nod again, and the Jarl dismisses me with an order phrased as a piece of advice – go to High Hrothgar and learn what they can teach me.


	28. Professionally Unethical 3

_Turdas, 21 Last Seed – Fridas, 22 Last Seed, 4E 201_

The sun tells me that it's getting late – six in the evening, if the dying rays of light are to be believed. It's not late enough that I can rent a room, and adventurers don't usually care about traveling at night anyway.

Carriage drivers, as well, don't mind as long as they're paid and don't get attacked on the road. I can only hope that the one Whiterun employs shares this world view, because Riften is a long ride away. It's a longer walk, though, which is one of the few reasons I want his services.

"How much is the fare to Riften?" is my opening line when I come to a stop next to the carriage outside of the city.

"Twenty Septims, like to any capital," he says, and there's only a vague hint of _'everyone knows that, what are you, an idiot'_ in his tone. I ignore it and climb in back, depositing the money into a pouch tied to the wood next to him.

I hear him sigh, and then we're moving. I settle into a more comfortable position and brace myself for a long trip.

* * *

Eight hours later, Bjorlam – as he introduced, two hours into the ride – and I make a much needed stop in Kynesgrove. Bjorlam feeds his horse, then follows me into the local Inn for food of our own. Two in the morning or no, there's a man at the bar, and both Bjorlam and I get a bowl of stew to tide us over.

Then it's back to the road.

* * *

We reach Riften just before dawn. Bjorlam heads for the stable house with a yawn, and I head for the gates, rested from an unintentional nap that started sometime after passing Windhelm. The cold, combined with the early hour, had knocked me out as easily as it always has. Perhaps that's one of the reasons Uncle Hrodgar never took me with him when his jobs sent him north. Ambushes are not uncommon in the wilds, and a heavy sleeper is a liability.

No matter. That time has passed, and I turn my attention to the surly guard demanding an entrance fee into his city. Reluctantly, I fork over the Septims, and he grins behind his helmet.

If he notices me eyeing him darkly as he pushes open the doors, he gives no sign. He'll probably notice his missing money the next day, however.

But I'll be long gone by then.


	29. Professionally Unethical 4

_Fridas, 22 Last Seed, 4E 201_

Riften is not one of the places Lindström Wine sells to, with it being Black-Briar territory, so I haven't been to the city for at least a decade. The last time I was here, I was nine and visiting Uncle Hrodgar's sister with the rest of our family. Elise, from what I remember of her, was as cheerful as her brother, even if her husband was a bit rough around the edges.

They both died in the crossfire of a civil dispute some three years back, however, and last I heard of their daughter, she's working for Bjoern's sister.

Perhaps I'll stop by the Bunkhouse and see her. Maybe Svana will remember me.

"I don't know you," a gruff voice interrupts my musing, and I turn towards the warrior leaning against a support beam. He narrows his eyes at me. "You in Riften lookin' for trouble?"

I don't respond right away because there's something about this man that brings up memories, claims of unfamiliarity aside. I squint at him, and try to picture him younger.

"Maul?" I wonder, and he tenses up. But that response is confirmation, and he _does_ look like the boy I roped into playing with me, back those ten and more years ago. He and his brother may _or may not_ have helped me traumatize Freya when she was four.

It takes him a long minute of distrustful glaring before he remembers me, but he does. Eventually. "Haven't seen you in _years_ ," he says, relaxing against his post. I shrug.

"After Aunt Elise died, we didn't have any excuse to come here," I point out. "Riften doesn't need the Lindströms when you have the Black-Briars."

"That it doesn't," he agrees, gruff once more. I guess he probably works for that family now. "Didn't answer me, though. You here to cause trouble?"

"Just a pit-stop," I tell him. "I've a cousin to visit, a few rumors to verify, then I'm off to Iverstead."

"What sort of rumors?" the man rumbles.

I hesitate, then remember that when we were boys, we used to make it a game to see how many rich tourists we could pickpocket. "I hear the Thieves Guild works out of here."

Maul cracks his first grin. "Now that's a topic I know about. Dirge works in their hideout now. I used to run with them myself, but took a job with Maven after they started hittin' a rough patch.

"You know?" he muses, tilting his head up and eyeing me in an assessing sort of way, "They could use someone like you. You were pretty good with your fingers back in the day."

Because, those tourists we used to pickpocket? I always came out of it with the biggest haul. "Maybe I'll join up," I tell him.

"Talk to Brynjolf," he advises. He jerks his head towards the center of Riften. "You'll find him in the marketplace. Usually has some scam set up."

"After breakfast," I say, and Maul chuckles as I head into town.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> note: Hrodgar's sister (Elise) marries Haelga's brother (who I named Bjoern because he doesn't have a name). Their daughter is Svana Far-Shield. That makes Lilja and Freya Svana's cousins, but I don't think Caelan has the same relation? He's, like, that family member you don't know your relation to so you call "cousin".  
> Also, hi, I'm still alive (to those who may be concerned), but I was hit by some depression and only just got out of it. And I only have a few more chapters written up, which means I need to play this game again and figure out what the heck is going on here. So updates will be even more sporadic than usual.  
> I might post a spoiler-ridden family tree on sta.sh, so the link will be added in soon.


	30. Professionally Unethical 5

_Fridas, 22 Last Seed, 4E 201_

The Bee and the Barb is technically the only Inn Riften has. The Bunkhouse is home to workers, not travelers, and I know from experience that Haelga tells people this.

The Bee is also cleaner than the Bunkhouse was the last time I was there, and that in itself makes it better. At almost seven in the morning, the tavern is mostly empty, but there's an Argonian woman behind the bar, and a man who could be either her brother or her husband sweeping the floor. They both look up when the door opens, and their smiles are only slightly strained.

"Welcome!" the woman calls. "What can I get you? Food, drink? A room? All three?"

I blink at her onslaught, and stay silent until I take a seat at a table. "Just some food. It's a bit early to start drinking, I think." I try a grin, and she gives me a frazzled one back.

I can vaguely recall Uncle Hrodgar mentioning that the owners of the Bee and Barb are trying to leave the city, and desperately need money to do so. If that's the case, I guess I can forgive her insistence. She beams at me when I order a full meal instead of just a plate, at least, which is worth the extra expense.

People start trickling in from the street and upstairs just before I finish off my meal, and I watch as Keerava doles out food. She pointedly avoids one man leaning against a wall, though, and I catch her sending sour looks his way more than once.

"Hey," I say to grab her attention as she passes me. She forces her scowl away, and I jerk my head towards the man. "Who is that?" I ask her, and her flimsy attempt of a smile falls.

"Brynjolf," she spits like a curse. "Works with the Thieves Guild; he's always hanging around, harassing me for gold that I don't owe them! Well, you know what? They're not getting a single coin out of me." She huffs, sends one more fierce glare Brynjolf's way, then stomps off to help a different customer.

I wait until she's far enough away and distracted, then head to Brynjolf. He looks over at me when I lean against the wall next to him. "Have we met before, lad?" he asks, amused, and I shrug.

"I was advised to meet you," I tell him, and he looks a little less amused.

"Oh? Any particular reason?"

"Ever heard of the Thieves Guild?" I ask right back. He stares me down, then relaxes with a small grin.

"I might know a thing or two about them," he says. "Why, are you interested in some... alternate employment?"

"I've been told I'm good with my fingers," I say, and Brynjolf chokes on a laugh.

"Word of advice, lad? _Never_ say that again," he tells me when he can breathe again.

My only response to that is a leer and waggled eyebrows because, _yes_ , I know _exactly_ what that sounds like. I'm sure it's just one more thing I can blame on my father.

**Author's Note:**

> Timeline has been moved because it's going to take up way too much room here.  
> [Link to the Timeline](http://sta.sh/03b0cp29t8h)


End file.
